


Quarantine

by TallFreak7



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arya Stark Swears, F/M, Mentioned Jon Snow, Mentioned Stark Family, POV Arya Stark, Pandemics, Quarantine, Sandor Clegane Swears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallFreak7/pseuds/TallFreak7
Summary: Stuck inside for the next fourteen days, Arya finds there is little in her new apartment she can do to pass the time. She's worked out, she's done some work for her current commission, she's exhausted as much of both her social media and television binge list that her brain could handle... and yet still the bundle of minutes before she can go to sleep and start the whole struggle over again is far more abundant then she knows what to do with.With so much time on her hands, is it any wonder she'd spend it talking to the rude, crude, sullen man on the other side of her balcony wall? If for nothing else then to just speak to another human being that wasn't her cousin.Even if that particular human being pissed her off to no end.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Arya Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, hi, hello. It's me, the Trial Run dude.
> 
> It has been a bit of time since you all have seen hide nor hair of me. And after I post this you won't see me again for a bit longer. I had said I would not post a story again until it was fully finished. I lied, but not by choice.
> 
> For some reason I can not explain, I have been struggling with the first chapter of this story for months now. I have had a outline written for this whole tale since March, and yet I kept going back and forth and editing the first chapter again and again. It eventually got to the point that I had to just drop it to focus on other things. 
> 
> But I eventually came back to it, and I decided that once I finished the first chapter I would post it to set it in stone. No more editing, no more revisions, this was the start of the story. Now it's up to me to write the rest.
> 
> Which is where we are at now. I haven't even started the second chapter, nor can I say when it will be finished let alone the rest of the story. And I won't be posting it until I have a complete tale to show for myself. It might be a while, which I understand will be disappointing, but hopefully the start of this story is good enough for you to just keep an eye on it, until the day comes when I finally come back.
> 
> So for now, enjoy the first chapter of my Quarantine themed story. I'll be seeing you all again relatively soon I hope.
> 
> WARNING: The 14 day quarantine timeline stated in this story is not based on any medial advice or advice from a virologist. If you want accurate information about how to stay safe during the coronavirus pandemic, visit the CDC's website.

**Day 1**

The clock read 9am, taunting Arya and her inability to fall back asleep. How the hell she woke up at 7am to get ready for school, or at least to give her parents the _impression_ she was going to school, before falling right back into bed and sleeping until 11am she’ll never know. Now she could barely stay asleep past 8, let alone go back to sleep once she _was_ awake.

9:04. Her internal cursing at the responsible side of herself, that unwelcomingly showed up when she became an adult, keeping her from sleeping the day away hadn’t lasted nearly as long as she wanted it to. She groaned as she sat up, her eyes being greeting by the sight of the dark and depressing void known as her room. You could tell it was a bedroom, because it had a bed in it.

And that was about all you had to go off of.

But it was better than the room she left behind.

With that thought, and the smile it gifted her, Arya swung her feet to the floor and stood up, ready to start a day that she hoped wouldn’t feel as long as she feared.

After a shower, which she spent about 20% of the time actually washing and 80% just staring into space, she wiped off the steam covered mirror and took a good long look at herself.

Same shoulder length hair, dark just like her Dad’s. Same eyes that were too big for her own head, grey just like her Dad’s. Same sharp features, just like her Dad. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was very much not a guy, she’d be the spitting image of her Dad. Her Mom used to say the same, in those rare instances when she could talk to her daughter without looking down her nose. Her Mom used to joke that if it wasn’t for her lips, she wouldn’t even be sure Arya was hers.

Arya liked to think she was joking at least, better than the alternative.

She glanced at the time.

9:56am.

Ugh.

As she scrubbed at her teeth, she began to run through the limited options she had available to fill the rest of her day. Going outside was off the menu, and with it the visit to Twist Street she had originally planned. All because of the quarantine.

A virus had been spreading pretty quickly throughout the population, bringing with it sickness and death, and the country was shaken. So much so that certain cities started to implement full-scale lockdowns if there was even a single case detected within their boundaries.

And of course, a case was found about 45 minutes from her apartment. Just yesterday in fact, a full week after she moved in. Which meant everything that wasn’t a necessity had to shut its doors, and the citizens were recommended to stay inside unless it was absolutely necessary. Which is how Arya found herself stuck in her yet to be fully furnished apartment, having just barely enough groceries to last the government mandated 2 week quarantine period, wishing she could talk to the person who decided tattoo parlors weren’t essential and ask them whether they hated art or her specifically.

Maybe she could start her work out routine back up today? Which would have been a great idea to have _before_ she showered. But hey, nothing wrong with taking two showers in one day. Won’t be doing her skin any favors, but we all have to make sacrifices in a time of crisis. And with a glance at the clock to confirm it wasn’t even 10:05 yet, meaning she needed to fill about 13 more hours before she could go to bed and end the first of many days to come, there wasn’t many ways she could describe this situations other than a crisis.

Her responsible side made itself known yet again, reminding her she should _probably_ get some work done for her current client. A client whose name escaped her. She wanted to say Tyler, but Taylor sounded equally as valid. Either way, she should get in contact with what’s-their-name first, to figure out if they even still want to commission her what with the new lockdown situation the people of this city had found themselves in.

After a quick email was penned and sent off to her maybe-client, she changed into a tank top and sweat pants, ready to fill the next couple hours with the sweet burn of exercise and sweat. She started with a good stretch, to limber up her muscles for the strain she was about to put them under. Since she only had some dumbbells, she focused on things she could do with her body alone. First were squats, followed by a nice number of shoulder presses she did with the lone dumbbells. Then she went into some speed skaters, taking deep labored breaths as the layer of sweat on her skin made her shower null and void. She moved to the floor to end things off, lying on her back to do crunches then following them up with a final set of pushups.

Once she had pushed off the ground for the last time she rolled over and stared up at the ceiling as she caught her breath, feeling the familiar sting of a work out done well. She had pushed herself there at the end, tacking on one more set of pushups then what she normally did, and her arms made sure she knew they did not approve.

The same way her mother had never approved.

_All your grunting and sweating reminds me of a pig, and is no way for a lady to hold herself._

“Fuck you.” Arya growled, good mood gone, as she stood and stomped back into her bathroom to take the second shower of the day.

* * *

2:34pm.

Arya had her sketch book in hand, her pencil scratching against the paper as she, appropriately, sketched down some ideas for her client who had thankfully still wanted to commission her work.

His name was Tony, as she rediscovered from his return email.

Creating art by commission, whether it was for political campaigns or small businesses, was not at all what she expected or dreamed she would be doing with her talents. But hey, money was money. It’s not like she had a college education or anything to help her get a “respectable” job, as her mother would call them. No, she decided quite early secondary education was not for her, nor would it help her get where she really wanted to go. Much to the disappointment of her parents.

But what else was new?

At least doing all these commissions was a good way to build her portfolio. And with actual professional work too! It’s because of all her commissions that she was even able to afford this apartment/government mandated prison. Besides, actually being able to work was helping her stave off the boredom she knew was just itching to pounce, to smother her in its dull embrace. She read online that keeping a good balance of work, relaxation, and talking to friends/family was a good way to keep yourself mentally healthy while locked in isolation.

She put it on her mental “Things she can do” list, to call all her friends and family to see how they were holding up.

So that was Jon and…

Actually, that was it.

Pencil down, Arya looked over the various rough logo outlines she had created, ensuring she had as many distinct design ideas as possible while also keeping within the boundaries set by her client. Satisfied she had enough for their next meeting, she flipped the book closed and put it back next to the laptop that sat on her kitchen table, as close to a work desk she had. She moved to her lone couch, eyes glancing at the oven to see the time.

3:45pm.

She sighed as she plopped herself down onto her couch, putting herself in arms reach of an almost identical sketch book. One she couldn’t help but to reach over and flip through, to remind herself why she was doing all these commissions in the first place (besides the obvious monetary benefit). This book was entirely for her own personal use, its sheets covered in as many images as she could manage within their margins. Her smile was warm as her eyes roamed over the pages, each design bringing with it the memory of when she drew it. Some memories were happy, some sad, a lot were angry, but they all shared one thing in common; how much she wished she was drawing this on someone instead of a lifeless piece of paper.

A tattoo artist. Not a “glamorous” job, as her parents had made sure to inform her. But who the fuck cares about glamour? All she wants is to make some a good ass art and for it to mean something to the person getting it. If the grin on the customers face when they first saw their finished piece wasn’t glamour, then she had no idea what glamour was.

A statement her parents would no doubt vehemently agree with.

Feeling her mood darken at the still fresh wound, she snapped the book closed and walked back over to her laptop. She was tired of thinking about _them_ , of thinking about anything really, and knew a little bit of binge time would help pass the unfortunately long stretch of time left until she could reasonably go back to bed and welcome tomorrow.

* * *

5:56pm.

Arya blew out a deep, anguished breath as she read the time on her phone, feeling the cool soon-to-be-night air on her skin, the breeze blowing the bits of her hair not tied back into her face. The alure of a mindless TV binge quickly lost its luster three episodes in, and even her social media feeds had little that could keep her attention for any length of time.

Didn’t stop her from checking at least five times.

Dropping her phone to her chest, Arya leaned back in the solitary chair on her balcony, her eyes roaming over the dusk painted landscape she could see from her elevated perch.

The balcony was the thing that really sold her on this apartment. They were just scouting out the place, Jon insisting on being there so he could check over the amenities for any issues the landlord “conveniently” forgot about. It was when he was checking the kitchen that she stepped out the sliding door onto the balcony, her eyes being filled with the greenery of the trees far below, stretching for miles before any elements of man dared to stop it, as if the presence of humans had never reached those precious acres of land, leaving nature to thrive in their absence.

Romanticized? Yes.

Did she sign for the apartment that very day?

Absolutely.

Having a park basically in your backyard had perks that Arya would have loved to take advantage of at the moment. A nice bike ride through the woods, feeling the breeze on her skin as the trees flew by, sounded like the perfect medicine to cure this mind-numbing boredom she was ailed with. But alas, the park was _also_ closed due to the quarantine, adding to her suspicion that the person making these decisions had a personal vendetta against her.

At least she didn’t have to worry about anyone bothering her while she was out here, the tall walls on either side blocking her view of the neighboring balconies and their views of hers. It made her feel like she was truly alone, just her and the soon to be night sky.

Now if only she could find something to _do_ , then she’d really be able to enjoy the view.

Maybe she should call Jon now? It hadn’t been very long since they last talked, but she was quickly running out of ideas here and it wasn’t even 7pm yet. She needed something to do, something that’ll keep her hands busy that wasn’t just drawing. Something like…

“Oh my god! How did I forget about her?” Arya exclaimed out loud, springing up and running back into her apartment.

She ran into her bedroom and basically slid under the bed, pulling out Jon’s gift and presenting it victoriously to the empty room. It was an acoustic guitar, midnight black except for a small spot on the body where she wrote the words _Nymeria_ with white sharpie. Jon cringed as she did it, but to not give something as gorgeous as this goddess of music a name would be a crime.

She subsequently named Jon’s guitar Ghost, though he forbade her from marking it as she did hers, since he somehow had never given it one himself. It was Ghost that made her want to learn guitar in the first place, Jon having pulled it out one night after she had barged into his apartment yet again, another tirade on her lips about her family that he had heard a thousand times.

It was the first time he ever played for her, the charming twangs of the guitar and the characteristic waver of his voice filling the room as his rendition of _Take Me Home, Country Road_ went on. It wasn’t the best playing she’d ever heard, or the best singing, and she knew he was just trying to distract her so he wouldn’t have to hear another rant, but she didn’t care. It was awesome.

So, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she came to him the next day, basically demanding he teach her so she could make the strings sing the way he did. This had been a little more than a month ago, just a few weeks before she ended up crashing on his couch, and a few more until she had a place of her own.

While she had wanted to get a guitar of her own since she started learning, something always seemed to come up that had her primary financial attention. It’s not like she needed it, it was a whim, a whim that was much harder to rationalize when she had to, you know, buy _food_. She would just have to wait until she was on more stable ground, then she’d treat herself with the gift of music.

Jon had other plans. It was when they were moving her in, unpacking and organizing all her meager belongings, that Jon had surprised her with a guitar of her own. The dark instrument spoke to her in a way his never did, the sleek beauty the perfect vehicle for her skills to really thrive. And the first time she played it was just magical, the best rendition of _Mary Had A Little Lamb_ there has ever and will ever be.

Jon disagreed, but she knew it was just thinly veiled jealously.

Arya cradled Nymeria gently as she returned to her perch on the balcony. The night was quiet, the only sound being the distant rumble of light traffic. She couldn’t hear any voices, nor really any sounds of basic human activity. All she was left with were the stars, each dot in the sky an eager fan waiting for her music to grace their ears.

Arya went to start up her practice, to strum the same scales she’s strummed for weeks on weeks now, the exact way Jon said she needed to before she could even think about trying to play an actual song… and the thought alone made the dark claws of boredom start to dig into her back. She got that she needed to start slow before diving head first into the world of music, but it was just so _boring_. Isn’t that why she pulled Nymeria out in the first place, to avoid the evil cloud of boredom she’s been running from all day?

Would it really be that hard to just… replicate Jon? She’s seen him play _Take Me Home, Country Road_ , which she unceremoniously dubbed as “The Family Song”, family in this case referring to the two of them, plenty of times. So, if she just placed her fingers where Jon placed his…

There, perfect! Or at least it seemed perfect, which was good enough for her. She was confident that once she started to play her fingers would just go where they were meant to, gracing her ears and the ears of all the woodland creatures hidden in the darkness below with the sound of the old country.

With her hand raised and poised for beauty, Arya took a deep breath… and strummed.

And it was perfect! So rich and wistful, the sense of nostalgia moving like a wave through her heart. Exactly how she expected the first note of The Family Song to sound! Now for the second note—

_*Twang*_

The second note was decidedly less perfect.

Which was fine, she hadn’t warmed up before playing so it was to be expected she would mess up a few times. Second attempt was going to be way better.

She strummed that perfect first note again, letting the majestic noise reverberate through her heart, before going to strum the second again…

_*Twang*_

Huh.

That wasn’t right either.

Arya shook it off. She was just rusty is all, it’s been about a week since she’s practiced anyway so her fingers needed to get back their dexterity. This time would be different, this time her fingers will flow over the strings like fish through the sea, and the air would be filled with the magic of John Denver.

Third time’s the charm and all that.

_*Twang*_

“Ugh, come on.” Arya muttered to herself, looking down at Nymeria in frustration. “What the hell, girl? Why aren’t you cooperating?”

Maybe the strings weren’t tuned correctly? Which would suck, because she really doesn’t know much about how she would even fix that. She’s seen Jon do it, but he couldn’t really explain exactly where to tune each string to, just what note they were supposed to be. A piece of info that did not help her, being as how she didn’t know what those notes even sounded like.

Nah, it couldn’t be the turning, Jon tuned Nymeria when he gave it to her. She just needed to focus, to visualize Jon the first time he played The Family Song, to visualize his hands and how they moved on the fretboard.

Maybe if she closed her eyes it’d make it easier to see his fingers in her memories.

_*Twang*_

It didn’t.

Wait, was Jon’s hand this high on the neck? Maybe if she brought her hand lower…

_*Twang*_

Okay, maybe her hand wasn’t high _enough_ before.

_*Twang*_

Did Jon strum higher? That must be what she’s doing wrong.

_*Twang*_

Arya couldn’t deny it, she was feeling just the smidgen frustrated. After at least 15 attempts she was still no where close to getting to the third fucking note in John Denver’s classic tune let alone the whole damn song. She could just imagine how Jon would be reacting if he was here, trying to hold back his smug grin as his sister continued to ignore all his advice and teachings only to run head first into disaster.

And it only made her urge to defy him all the stronger. She didn’t care how many attempts it took, nor if she spent the entire quarantine trying and failing to play this damn song, she _was_ going to play it… eventually.

Spite always was the best motivator.

_*Twang*_

Maybe she wasn’t strumming with enough fingers?

_*Twang*_

Did Jon hold down all the strings, instead of just a few?

_*Twang*_

What if she tried—

_*Twang*_

How about—

_*Twang*_

Or maybe—

_*Twang*_

“Fuck.”

_*Twang*_

“Fuck.”

_*Twang*_

“Fuck!”

_*Twang*_

“Jesus fucking Christ will you cut that the fuck out!” A deep voice boomed, cutting through her cocoon of isolation like butter.

Arya yelped, embarrassingly loudly, and jumped at the sudden stimuli that wasn’t coming from her uncooperative guitar. “What the fuck!” She yelled, whipping her head around to find the source of the sound. “Who’s there?”

“Doesn’t fucking matter, just shut the fuck up!” The voice growled again, now clearly coming from the balcony to her right.

“Who fucking asked you?” She bit back.

“Who the fuck asked you to subject my ears to that noise?”

Arya’s ears turned hot. She wasn’t as alone out here as she thought. “Fuck you, asshole, I’m still learning!”

“I could’ve fucking told you that! Do you even know your scales? Or chords? Or have any sheet music?” The mystery cunt interrogated.

“What’s it to you?!” Arya said instead of answering.

“You’re fucking rushing is why, you keep trying the same fucking two notes over and over again and you keep fucking it up. Like a baby trying to run before it even crawls. You need to start with some god damn basics!”

“Fuck you! I didn’t ask you for any fucking advice, and I don’t wanna hear any! You don’t like it, go the fuck inside.”

“I was out here first, you go inside.”

The childish rebuttal made her stumble just a tad. No way was that true, if he was telling the truth she would have heard him do... something. With a voice like that, she found it extremely hard to believe a he could be quiet doing anything.

“Fucking liar.” She accused.

“I don’t lie, girl. And you don’t know what you’re doing with that guitar. Just give it up.”

Arya growled, grabbing Nymeria and stomping back inside. This was great, just great. Not only did a fucking quarantine start the same week she moved into her own place, but now she has to deal with this cunt of a neighbor thinking he can have any say in how she fucking does things.

She sat on her living room couch and tried to calm down so she could continue her attempts at the Family Song, but had about as much success there as she did on the balcony. Patience shot, she (gently) slammed her guitar into the couch and stomped her way to her bedroom before slamming the door. It was late enough, she assumed as she buried herself under her covers, and she really just did not have the energy to try and stretch this day any longer than it had already been stretched.

 _“Just give it up.”_ The next-door cunt’s voice echoed in her mind.

“Not on your fucking life.” Arya growled to the darkness around her, already planning how to best use her time tomorrow to prove that man wrong.

Spite always was the best motivator.


End file.
